It’s Yelena’s kind-of-day-off, yet she always seems to find a way to weave her work into her free-time. Sometimes, like this time, it works out in your favor.
“Come back to bed.”
“Shush,” Yelena waved a dismissive hand at you, her back still turned to you and the bed. “I thought I heard something.”
With a defeated sigh, you fell back against your pillow to wait for her eventual return. Early rays of sunlight peeked through the window of the room the two of you rented out the night before and shone almost directly into your eyes. To escape it, you pressed your face into the pillow and turned away from the light. As you moved, you noted how the glow exposed the less-than-lovely water stains on the ceiling and the fine layer of dust that covered the small table in the corner of the room. At the sight, your nose scrunched up as if to block the threat of a sneeze.
Despite that, the room was not the worst place you and Yelena had been housed in. Though, you had stayed at farfiner establishments. At places where specks of dust were viewed as vermin to be exterminated. There were times where you missed the luxury that came with that level of care and cleanliness.
But you knew better than to ask for an upgrade. The first, and last, time you dared to question the quality of your and Yelena’s housing, Val shut you down with a mere glare. After that, you never even endeavored to ask whyyou stayed at a certain location. Granted, most of the time, the advantage was clear.
For instance, you once camped in the concrete skeleton of an abandoned apartment complex, situated across the street from Yelena’s mark. While you never quite grew used to the presence of rats, the target never saw the end coming. Yelena was able to watch him through the windows, stalking along the cement ridges and metal frames that would be deconstructed by a demolition crew soon after you left.
Then, there was the time you and Yelena slept in the silk sheets of a highrise suite. You don’t remember leaving that bed all too often during that mission. If you and Yelena did venture out beyond the edge of the California King mattress, it was to lounge on the balcony to listen and watch the life flowing through the city until sunset. Yelena always worked best in the dark.
There was no balcony at this motel, aside from the one that the stairs led up to reach the second level of rooms. You and Yelena were booked a room on the first floor, with a neighbor above you that insisted on stomping while they packed for their early morning departure. Even with one ear pressed against numerous layers of fabric, you could hear their thumping around.
“It’s probably the person upstairs,” you grumbled into the pillow.
Yelena shushed you again as she peeked inside the adjoining bathroom. A long, too quiet moment passed and you felt a shock of nerves settle in your stomach. Tentatively, you pushed yourself up and off of the bed. Fear guided your feet silently to the carpeted floor as you craned your neck to look for Yelena. It was tooquiet.
“Lena?” You called out softly, your voice cutting through the sudden quiet.
When you got no reply, you padded closer to the bathroom door. Your fingers curled tight into your palms, creating a pair of perfect fighting fists. Yelena had drilled you on the proper form in the past. To defend yourself, she had said; though, back then, you never imagined a time where she wouldn’t be by your side.
Now, you were all too aware of how alone you were. Apprehension was your only ally as you called out again, firmer this time, “Yelena?”
Another long beat of silence surrounded you, overwhelmed your senses with nothingness, before the bathroom door suddenly flew open. The stopper on the wall met the metal handle with a loud thud that made you jump.
“What?” Yelena asked, face blank and unamused until her brown eyes fell upon your curled fists. Then, her lips quickly quirked upwards into a wide, mischievous grin. “Were you worried about me, dorogoy?”
Exasperated, you dropped your unclenched your fists, dropped them to your sides, and scowled. “You weren’t answering!”
“Izvinit’, sorry,” Yelena said as she stepped closer to you, her focus trained on your hands. “But show me the stance again.”
There was an edge in her voice that nearly sent a shiver down your spine. Luckily, Yelena seemingly didn’t notice as her fingers found yours and raised your hands up. When you met her eyes, you found her grin faded into a softer, less-teasing smile. Was it pride?
“Show me,” she echoed, her gaze unyielding. Her tone wasn’t forceful, but you felt yourself compelled to concede.
You raised your hands and closed them into tight fists once more, even going as far as to bring them close to your head. Between your raised arms, Yelena was perfectly framed. Her eyes drank in your stance, studied your pose, the placement of your thumb. You couldn’t help but smile at her intense attention to detail.
“What do you think?” You asked, putting on your best Russian accent. Yelena’s brow raised at your attempt and your smile widened slightly. “No good?”
“Your accent is terrible, beyond help,” she mused, hands reaching out to resituate how you held your arms. “But your stance is…it’s good. Could use some work, but it’s good.”
“Well, you’re the one who taught me, so,” you trailed off, leaving for words open as an invitation for training, for a lesson. Or a lesson.Yelena leaned back and gave you a knowing look before she began to circle around you, surveying you.
You could feel the heat of her eyes on you, analyzing your posture. Despite your desire to go back to bed and drag Yelena with you, you remained still. There would be time for that later. Plus, either way, you were with Yelena and enjoying time together. Either way, Yelena’s hands would be on you.
“You have to stand with your dominant side foot farther back and apart, so you can pivot when you punch. Here, scoot this back,” she said, tapping your foot with her own. You stepped back but Yelena shook her head. “No, too far. Now you’re vulnerable for a sweep.”
“A sweep? What is-”
“This,” Yelena interrupted, swinging her leg out to strike yours. There wasn’t any pain, only the feeling of your leg giving out beneath you.
Then, there was the falling. Red and dingey, the carpet of the hotel room floor rushed up at you. Just as a yelp of surprise began to slip past your lips, Yelena’s leg, the one that illustrated was a ‘sweep’ was, swung back around and bumped you again. With the strike, you were tipped backwards rather than forwards and to the side. Your change in direction gave Yelena the opportunity to reach out and catch you.
Her hands grasped your hips, pulling your body flush to hers. At the contact, your hammering heart slowed, calmed by the warmth of her arms around you. You fight whiplash to meet Yelena’s eyes and, when you finally met her gaze you saw that her grin has forced crinkles in the corners of them.
“That’s a sweep,” she beamed.
“Uh-huh,” you replied breathlessly, “I figured.”
Almost immediately, Yelena’s grin melted into an expression of concern. Her brow furrowed and her lips parted, while her hands squeezed your hips. “I didn’t hurt you did I, I was just-”
To silence her worry, you leaned forwards and kissed her. Your hands traveled up from Yelena’s arms to cup her face. The smooth skin of her cheeks filled your palms. That was what you loved most about her: she was soft despite it all. She loved and cared, despite being a Widow; despite being able to land you on your ass in an instant.
You pulled away slowly and smiled when Yelena’s eyes remained closed. “Thanks for the lesson.”
Yelena smiled then, her eyes opening wide enough to drink your look of pleased surprise as she lifted you off your feet and carried you back to bed, at last.
“You should just ask her out. She’d say yes.” Wanda continues needling you.
You were all gathering around for the traditional after party drinks with just the team and significant others. Wanda was again encouraging you to ask Natasha out even though you were fairly certain the redheaded super spy only sees you as a friend. As drinks flowed and inhibitions loosened, Clint the shit starter (as you liked to call him) declared it time for a game of Truth or Dare. The rounds go round and everyone is laughing, blushing, and acting goofy.
Warnings:FxF, reader cheats on boyfriend, no real smut but detailed mentions of it, sexy kissing, a couple swear words, bisexual reader, Natasha is sexy, 18+ ONLY,MINORS DNI, not proof read
A/N:My inspiration is obvious but the song is sexy so can you blame me? This is my lil gift to y’all for getting me to my next follower milestone
Warnings:FxF, reader cheats on boyfriend, no real smut but detailed mentions of it, sexy kissing, a couple swear words, bisexual reader, Natasha is sexy, 18+ ONLY,MINORS DNI, not proof read
A/N:My inspiration is obvious but the song is sexy so can you blame me? This is my lil gift to y’all for getting me to my next follower milestone
Natasha’s stuck behind the bar, watching you out of the corner of her eye. This is what she’s done all night so far; watch you like a predator stalking it’s prey. And there you sit, completely unaware.
Just when she’s about to back off, Natasha spots her chance to strike. Your boyfriend of seven months decides to call it a night, leaving you at this party by yourself. Well, not totally by yourself. Because moments after he leaves, Natasha swoops in.
“Michael’s heading out?” She asks casually, setting a drink for you on the countertop. Your favorite.
You nod, giving her a small smile. “Yeah, he’s gotta be up early tomorrow. I’m not ready to go though.”
“So what will you do here all alone?” Her voice is smooth and seductive. You wonder if Natasha’s aware of the effect that voice has. You’re sure she is.
“Text a little, talk a little, drink a lot.” You laugh but you both know it’s not a joke. If you’re honest with yourself, you didn’t stay because you wanted to party. You stayed because you felt a pull. Towards what, you weren’t sure, but you knew that in order to find out, you needed to stay.
Natasha tilts her head the slightest bit, her little smirk never leaving her lips. “But everyone else is dancing. Do you really plan to sit here instead?”
You shrug. “I don’t have anyone to dance with.”
‘Bingo’, Natasha thinks. “Well, we can fix that.” She steps out from behind the bar and grabs your wrist, gently pulling you to the dance floor, leaving no room for argument. Not that you would.
Out on the dance floor, everyone stands close, bodies grinding and swaying to the beat of the music blasting through the speakers. Natasha pulls you close— maybe too close for two women who are just friends. But again, you don’t mind. The pull returns and you smirk, getting a good idea of what’s going on here. And it’s so fucking wrong, but it feels so right. Natasha’s hands stay on you and the two of you dance. Like she wants to hold onto you forever and never let go, selfishly keeping you all to herself.
She leans in closer so you can hear her speak over the sound of the music, her breath tickling the outside of your ear. “Michael does this a lot, doesn’t he?” Natasha probes, knowing the answer already. At every Stark party, every night out with the team, every event, Michael leaves early. The only time he doesn’t leave early is when he doesn’t show at all.
“Unfortunately yes. I think these things just tire him out; being around all these people.”
“He seems tired a lot. And forgetful.”
You frown. Was it that obvious? For the past few months it’s seemed like he forgot everything. He forgot dates and anniversaries. Hell, he forgot your birthday. But you forgave him. You always forgave him.
“Why do you put up with him? You could find someone better.” Natasha purrs right against your ear, her lips tickling the skin there. “I could do it better.”
Your breath gets caught in your throat as Natasha softly presses her lips just below your ear, trailing them down your jaw and down to your neck. The kisses are light and you could easily pull away if you wanted to. You don’t.
“Fuck.” You whimper breathlessly, wrapped around Natasha’s finger before she’s even done anything of real consequence.
Natasha’s kisses become stronger. She is still gentle with you, but everything feels more solid and less like a whisper of what could happen. “I’d remember shit. I wouldn’t leave you alone at parties. I could keep up with you, in every way imaginable.” Natasha isn’t trying to sell you the idea, she’s stating facts. Michael is failing at being a boyfriend. She could do it so much better than he is. You just have to give her the chance to prove it. “Tell me you don’t want this and I’ll stop. I’ll leave you alone just like he did, but only if you want me to.”
Your head rolls back, giving Natasha better access to your neck. “God, please don’t stop.”
That’s all she needs to hear. She was holding herself back before, but now that she has you, she’s going to show you why you should stay with her. Natasha harshly presses her lips against your collarbone, sucking on the spot. You can’t see it, but you can feel the vacuum and the tiniest bursting sensations, and you know she’s leaving a subtle hickey. Marking her territory in a way that only the two of you will know. Even in the middle of the dance floor, you’re in your own private world. Before it can go too far, Natasha grabs your wrist once more, leading you away from the party. Once the two of you are further away, she asks “Do you want to keep going?”
You don’t need any time to think about your answer before it comes out as an eager whisper. “Yes.” With her hand around your wrist, Natasha pulls you to the elevator.
—————
Waking up in Natasha’s bed doesn’t bring the guilt that you thought it would. You thought you’d regret it, that you’d look at her and think of Michael and how worried he must be. But when you look over at her sleeping figure, all you think of is how gorgeous she is. How soft her skin felt against yours, how good it was to run your hands through her hair, gripping it in pleasure. Her moans and the words she spoke against your lips and between your legs. The hours you spent exploring each others bodies, taking your time ensuring that you saw and felt every single part.
Reluctantly standing, carefully avoiding waking Natasha in the process, you reach for your phone. Good thing you keep a charger in your purse, since you didn’t go home last night. No messages from Michael. You sigh, but you don’t know whether it’s out of disappointment or relief.
You decide that you might as well make breakfast for the two of you, since Michael obviously isn’t missing you right now. You grab a random shirt off the floor, not checking it first. Once it’s slipped over your head, you catch your reflection in the mirror. This is Natasha’s shirt, not yours, but it fits. It brings a pleased smile to your lips. Not only does the shirt fit, but Natasha fits too. Better than Michael ever did. She was right; she could do it better than him.
—————
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